Shut up and Help Me
by knockknockhello
Summary: Harry is missing, and John needs Sherlock's help to find her, help that, for some reason, he's a bit unwilling to give. Sherlock/John T rating to be safe. First fanfic! Be gentle with me ;
1. Prologue

**HELLO!** This is the prologue so let me know if you like it and I'll put up chapter 1! Cheers guys! :D Oh and...

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock doesn't belong to me, though the whole cast including the writers are welcome anytime to drop by for some tea :)

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><p>The sirens sounded along the empty street, flashes of red and blue passing over houses with dreary-eyed watchers peering from the windows. The two police cars travelled at an alarming speed, careful only to manoeuvre between the few wandering pedestrians roaming the street. No one else needed to die today.<p>

Arriving at the building already marked with yellow tape and stationary cars, the newly arriving police cars skidded to halt. The Detective Inspector stepped from the vehicle, hardly able to stifle a yawn. He led the few policemen into the building, Sgt. Donovan swiftly moving to walk beside him.

"This better be important, Sally. Couldn't even catch a wink in the car, Michaels drove so fast-" he said, allowing the yawn to pass his lips this time. Donovan stiffly turned to face him.

"It is sir. Believe me. It's a massacre in there. I don't know how that much blood could have come from one body..." she said, relatively unemotional aside from the slight tremble in her lips. The Detective Inspector nodded curtly and walked swiftly into the room already crowded by blue-suited figures. He stopped short, a hand moving directly to his mouth and nose before turning and hastily exiting the room. He collapsed against the wall adjacent to the door.

"I warned you." said Sally as she leaned against the wall with her arms folded across her chest.

"Bloody Hell..." he said, his breathing coming out in harsh gasps. Sally paused before hesitantly asking the question she had been trying to avoid all night.

"Are you gonna bring him in?" she asked with great reluctance. The Detective Inspector merely looked at her. The look only confirmed her suspicions.

_Here comes the freak_.

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><p>Sherlock entered the building with a graceful walk, gliding past the officers and forensic scientists. To those who passed they noticed he appeared to have a slight spring in his step but that wasn't unusual. Not for him.<p>

Sherlock walked straight to the room with the now covered body across the floor, turning on his heels to face the empty doorway. Said doorway was then filled with the inclined figure of Anderson leaning against the doorway.

"So, it's you." He said with a grimace. Sherlock stared past him.

"Here for another _exciting_ murder are you?" he quipped, receiving not even an acknowledgement.

"What, have you got nothing to say for once?" Anderson peeled himself from the doorway and took a step towards the passive man who continued to stare over Anderson's shoulder.

"What-"

"It's called 'being ignored' Anderson. I'm surprised you've never had the pleasure of the treatment before." He finally spoke just as the Detective Inspector marched into the room.

"Ah, Lestrade. I was beginning to wonder when you would make an appearance." said Sherlock smartly.

"Make this quick Sherlock. You know I'm not supposed to let you in here. Let alone twice." Lestrade said tiredly, placing his hands on his hips and gesturing around the room with his hands. Sherlock bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, the edges of his mouth turning up slightly.

"And you know I am grateful for that Lestrade, but I just needed to bring something with me this time."

"You can't bring anything in here, freak. We already searched you anyway." Sally said, appearing in the doorway.

"Which I still think is unnecessary." Sherlock said tersely. Sally scoffed.

"Doesn't matter what you think. God only knows what you would bring in here if you could."

"What did you bring with you, Sherlock?" Lestrade said, already exhausted and slightly worried from the turn of the conversation. Sherlock smiled.

"Joo-oohn!" he yelled to the doorway, the three other pairs of eyes in the room following his gaze.

A few seconds later a figure sauntered into the room shuffling his feet. He yawned stiffly and scratched his short mousy hair.

"What is it, Sherlock? You know I don't like to be woken up in the middle of a nap." John blinked his heavy eyes at the man still standing in the centre of the room. Sherlock's smile widened.

"I do apologise, John, but I needed your assistance." He said. John only sighed in response.

"What with?" he said, almost afraid of the answer. Sherlock's smile faded from his pale face as he turned and walked to a spot next to the victim. He then kneeled and faced away from the body, scratching at a crack in the wooden floor.

"Come here." He said without looking up. John glanced over to Lestrade who looked just as confused as he did before lazily walking to stand beside Sherlock.

"What?" he yawned. Sherlock looked up and reached a hand into one of the doctor's jeans pockets. The doctor gave a start and tried to remove Sherlock's hand, but he had already found what he was looking for. He held a small needle in his hand, using it to get better access into the crack in the floor.

"What the hell? Did-did you put that in there when I was sleeping?" John stammered. Sherlock smirked.

"Of course not. I would never risk you waking up. No, I planted this beforehand." He said, focusing the needle on a particular place in the crack. John rubbed his forehead with one hand and placed the other on his hip.

"Beforehand? But when would you...oh. Is that why you interrupted my tea making to point out the window and shout 'Look! It's Santa Claus!' and it's the middle of August...I did wonder about that." John said, shrugging. Sherlock was too focused on the crack in the floor to hear what John was saying, but the other three members of the room were trying to keep their reactions under control. Lestrade just turned his head, not needing to see more evidence of their dysfunctional relationship. Sally refused to pay any attention to them at all, turning her head to the side as if completely oblivious while Anderson simply scoffed and left the room.

"So..." John broke the silence, unaware of the stillness in the room, "Why exactly did you come back here again? I mean, weren't you invited here yesterday?"

"Yes I was. And I came and I saw. And then I left." Sherlock had almost managed to manoeuvre what he was digging for out of the small opening.

"So why did you come back? Couldn't figure it out the first time?" John smiled slightly at the thought. Sherlock looked up at John.

"Please." Was all he said, returning to his excavation.

"So? Why did you?" John said, folding his arms across his chest.

"I needed you to bring me this needle."

"Uh huh. So you could dig into a crack in the floor?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"So I could get...this." Sherlock said, finally scraping a rusted copper coin out of the crack. He picked it up and held it between two fingers, lifting it towards the light. John knelt beside Sherlock to get a better view of the coin, leaning close to the pale man. Sherlock glanced over to the doctor quickly before returning his gaze to the coin. He swiftly stood, nearly knocking John over in the process and strode across the room and out the door. Lestrade was momentarily dazed before he rushed towards the door.

"Oi, Sherlock! Where are you going? What was in the crack?" John slowly stood and sighed to himself.

_Here we go again._

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><p>So...yeah. You know what to do ;)<p> 


	2. Missed Calls

**Hi guys! Knock knock! **Chapter 1 is up! Though it's just a short one :)

Any stuff related to the case is totally made up by me so it could be factual or it could be toootally wrong but I will try to keep it as factual as possible! If you see something and you think, whaaat?, then please let me know :)

**Disclaimer:** As I said, they can drop round for tea, but I don't own them :(

Missed Calls

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><p>John hastily exited the room as confused as he had entered. He thought he would be used to seeing Sherlock in his focused yet ecstatic frame of mind, but even after months of living<p>

with the detective he was still shocked by the compromising positions Sherlock used to think. Like this one.

"Sherlock, why are you upside-down in your desk chair? What's wrong with the couch?" he asked, looking into Sherlock's upturned and slightly flushed face. Sherlock sighed; a deep sigh John knew meant he was an idiot for not already knowing.

"The couch doesn't swivel." Sherlock replied, twisting the chair with his lower back for emphasis.

"Of course it doesn't," John said, more to himself than the inverted sleuth who just blinked up at the doctor. John went to sit on his chair but the sound of Sherlock's velvety voice stopped him mid step.

"Your sister called." John stared at Sherlock, expecting him to go on but Sherlock was already distractedly swivelling his chair.

"What? When I was out? Since when do you answer the phone?" John asked quickly. Sherlock didn't reply, shifting in his seat and frowning. John tried asking again but received the same response.

"Sherlock!" John said, raising his voice to near shout. Sherlock again innocently ignored him, muttering under his breath about his butt being asleep. John unclenched his jaw and walked to stand in front of the detective. At this point Sherlock had realigned his body so he could feel all body parts properly and had placed his steepled fingers underneath his chin, continually swivelling in the chair. John tried again.

"What did Harry want?" No response. John clenched his jaw again, but harder, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock stared at nothing, twisting his chair from side to side until it creaked. John stopped the chair with one hand, silencing the dull groan that echoed throughout the apartment. Sherlock looked up at him.

"Yes, John?"

"Sherlock, what did Harry want?" John asked slowly, trying his hardest to keep his tone neutral.

"To speak to you obviously. She doesn't know me so why would she confide in me?" Sherlock stated. John crouched by Sherlock's head that skimmed the floor, maintaining his hold on the chair with both hands either side of Sherlock's lean form.

"Confide? What do you mean? Was she upset?" John knew Sherlock was very particular with his choice of words so he always tried to pay attention to them. They always seemed to hold a clue.

"I don't know, I handed the phone to Mrs Hudson as she began making a sniffling noise that overpowered whatever she was trying to say to me." He said, eyes unfocusing. John slowly stood, rushing out the door and down the stairs.

"Mrs Hudson!" he called. She appeared almost instantly and smiled.

"Yes, dear?" she asked. John gave her a quick smile.

"Did, uh, someone call for me while I was out by any chance?"

"Why, yes my dear. Sherlock must have told you, I'm so sorry I almost forgot-"

"That's alright, Mrs Hudson, what did they want, exactly?"

"Well, Sherlock answered the phone first, I'm not sure why, he seemed very dazed. Lucky I was walking passed otherwise he may have hung up on the poor girl. You know what he's like." She said. John smiled again.

"Yes, yes I know. What did she say to you?"

"Well she was sniffling very loudly so it was very hard to hear her properly but she asked for you and when I said you weren't in she hung up. Poor dear. Maybe she's sick or has a bit of a cold…" but John didn't reply, he had already turned back around and was out the front door before she noticed. He fished his phone from his pocket and noticed 4 missed calls. He mentally berated himself for not noticing. Dialling Harry's number the doctor shuddered against the cold.

Four rings.

Five.

_Hi, you've reach Harry-_

John hung up. He tried once more and left a simple message. He breathed in the fresh afternoon air before hearing the front door open behind him. Turning his head he narrowly avoided being bowled over by Sherlock's swiftly approaching figure.

"Sherlock, what is it?"

"Come John, we have an appointment with the museum curator in twenty minutes. Finally some news." He said excitedly, signalling a taxi.

"News? About that case?"

"Yes, John, yes. More importantly about that coin. Come on," he said, sliding into the cab. John kept his grip on his phone as he slid in next to Sherlock, not noticing, however, the slight vibrate his phone made before going dead once more.

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><p>So yeah, pretty short but I'll try to make the next one longer :)<p>

Keep up the good work guys! Have a great afternoon :)


	3. A Crumpled Clue

**HELLO ALL! **I'm back! Sorry it's been a bit of a wait but I have my exams soon and, unfortunately, they take priority :P

Also, any detective stuff is all me so if it's weird or off please let me know so I can hope to improve :)

**Disclaimer:** As I said, they can drop round for tea, but I don't own them :(

A Crumpled Clue

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><p>"Ah, Mr Holmes!" The sly grin spread across the man's face, appearing from beneath his white moustache.<p>

"Mr Cravely, I assume." Sherlock said, grasping the old man's frail hand before securing it behind his back.

"You assume correctly. I'm sorry we couldn't discuss this in my office but it is, unfortunately, being refurnished." The old man gestured towards a room further down the cluttered hallway that was full of men in uniforms, lifting and moving furniture in and out. There was another room across from Mr Cravely's with its door ajar. Sherlock briefly glanced over the old man's hunched shoulders between the two rooms, returning his gaze to the curator's with a small smile.

"Quite alright," he said. It was then that the old man's eyes landed on John.

"Oh, do forgive my manners. I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he said, hand outstretched to John who firmly shook it.

"John Watson. I'm Sherlock's…" He never did quite know how to finish that sentence.

"Assistant." Sherlock supplied. John smiled. He always changed it.

"Ah, so nice to finally meet the man behind the man." He smiled a matching smirk to Sherlock. John looked between them.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked but was quickly cut off by Sherlock.

"Mr Cravely, I do hope we were asked down here for a reason," he said slowly, lowering his head slightly and intently staring at the old man.

"Of course, of course. I found some information about that coin," he said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his coat pocket. He looked at the paper, glancing down through his half-moon glasses before handing the paper to Sherlock.

"It was discovered a month ago by a Luke Casta on a dig in Egypt. He was in the process of selling us the coin but left before the paperwork could be completed. We've tried to reach him several times but can't get a clear connection. It's all on that paper. Such a shame too. It was found the coin was Roman and over 1,500 years old! A marvellous find," he said, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm. Sherlock handed the paper to John.

"And the girl?" he asked, hands now in his pockets. The curator smiled sadly.

"Ah, yes. The girl. Her name was Margaret Bleaker. She was my secretary." Sherlock bounced lightly on his heels.

"Good?" Sherlock asked.

"Very good," said Mr Cravely.

"And you're not just saying that because she's dead?"

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed in surprise. Sherlock and the old man's gaze didn't waver from each other.

"It's quite alright, Dr Watson. She was an excellent secretary." Sherlock's mouth twitched at the edges.

"Well, if there's nothing else Mr Cravely, we have dinner plans." The smile returned to Mr Cravely's moustache but didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Don't let me keep you then. If I find anything else I'll let you know." Sherlock bowed slightly at the old man before turning on his heels and walking away. John smiled at the old man, muttered a quick thank you, and hurried after Sherlock. The old man stood watching after the two men even after they were long out of sight and slowly strolled into his busy office.

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><p>Sherlock and Watson walked in time down the steps to the museum and waited on the street for a cab. John turned to Sherlock.<p>

"So?" John asked. Sherlock glanced sideways at him.

"So…" he echoed.

"Figured it out yet?" Sherlock smiled.

"Mostly," he said. John nodded and looked down the street when a nagging thought entered his mind. He pushed it away, and thought of something else.

"How did he know I was a doctor?" he asked Sherlock.

"He's a curator to a museum. He does his research," he said simply, waving the crumpled piece of paper in front of John's face. John snatched it from him.

"How and when did you get that? It was in my jacket pocket," he said, reaching into said pocket.

"For an ex-army man you really don't pay enough attention to your surroundings. I suppose you'd like these back then?" Sherlock said, dangling John's phone in front of him which John promptly snatched back as well.

"Cheeky," he said, as Sherlock finally flagged down a cab. They slid in, Sherlock first, and he spoke the address to the cabbie before resting against the seat, falling into a comfortable silence with John. John held the paper in his hands and started reading. Sherlock watched him.

"How long, would you say, did it take you to read that?" John didn't answer. He kept reading until he was finished and folded the paper back into his pocket.

"How long was that?" Sherlock shrugged.

"One and a half minutes." John relaxed against the seat.

"Why?" John asked. Sherlock held onto the car door and looked slyly across at John.

"Didn't you notice?" John shook his head as Sherlock sat further forward.

"Mr Cravely had never seen that paper before he gave it to us. He read it on the spot and recited it to us." John sat further forward.

"But you said he does his research. He'd have to read it to know it was relevant." John countered. Sherlock smiled knowingly at John.

"Miss Bleaker was his secretary. Her office was right next to his. The door was open and there was a file on her desk that said Luke Casta. She did the research and gave it to her boss. By the looks of that paper it was a while ago as well." Sherlock straightened his back slightly and furrowed his brow.

"Right. But he recited it perfectly! How could he have just read it?"

"Because he's a fast reader. The sooner you read something the further forward it is in your mind to remember."

"But it's so crumpled. I thought that meant he had held it in his hands a lot and fiddled with it."

"Did you see where he pulled the paper from? His coat pocket. A very small pocket that could only fit the paper if it was squashed. The fact that it was crumpled means nothing but that it was in his pocket for some time." Sherlock relaxed against his seat again as John rested his elbows on his knees.

"So is that important?" Sherlock slowly closed his eyes.

"Is what important?"

"That he's a fast reader." Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at the roof of the cab.

"Possibly," the cab stopped, "Or it could just be a fun little fact about the curator." Sherlock hurried out of the cab and into the small restaurant, turning John's phone off and ignoring the awaiting text message from Harry. John paid the cabbie and slowly followed, oblivious to his jacket being slightly lighter.

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><p>Review if you would, my lovelies!<p>

Have a beautiful day :D


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